Unspoken
by Victoriam Speramus
Summary: She whispered words from a dream both had denied but none of them could forget. "Don't leave me." So he didn't. Until the soldiers came and knocked him out. A response to Allison Lightning/Replica Velocity aka X5 714 challenge. Logan centric. ABANDONED! See profile for more info.
1. Prologue

_Took me a while__—school is mean, mean, MEAN!—__but here is this piece. I'd have loved to update one of the other stories but since reading the last chapter of "Damaged" (one of the best stories I've read, btw, so go and read it if you haven't) I just couldn't get the idea out of my head. **Allison's challenge said:** _"To write a fic of your own where Logan is caught at the end of Season One, instead of Max and is turned into a soldier by either Lydecker or Renfro (the method how is up to you) as either the primary or as a main character."

_This is my take on it.  
_

* * *

**-Unspoken-**

* * *

_It felt cold. _

_Blood was draining out her body, so was her life, and he held her close, clinging to the faint hope that somehow, that wasn't what was supposed to happen, that the infinite wisdom of his late mother was actually wrong._

_She couldn't die, she was so young, she was so strong. He loved her...  
_

_"No, we're gonna get you out of here. Okay? It's gonna be all right."_

_But that wasn't going to happen, and she knew he knew, yet trying to break the ridiculous amount of charm in the situation was too stupid_—_and cruel. Her eyelids were heavy, as if finally the years of sleepless nights were having an effect in her. Every time was harder and harder to keep her eyes open, but she tried, maybe just glad to see him there by her side, wishing a everlasting memory of the feeling of his figure warming her cold one, a perfect print of those green eyes of his._

_Even then she could hear the units running across the forest, looking for them. _Go away! You still have time,_ her soldier self yelled to him, angry, yet she couldn't voice the words._ Because you don't want him to leave. You were expecting this to end all nicely and maybe saying those words to him. 'For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until _death do us part_'_._ Quite a selfish bitch you are, Max, _she thought at the comforting sound of his voice, muffled by the gunshots in the background. Such a wonderful soundtrack for her last minutes._

_In the end, all that came out her lips was a soft whisper, words from a dream both had denied but none of them could forget._

_"Don't leave me."_

_So he didn't._

_Until the soldiers came and knocked him out.  
_

* * *

TBC

* * *

_Though my original plan was post the story as a one shot, I decided against it. It hasn't been finished since I can't decide whether or not to do one little thing... and trust me, that needs to be thought more than once because you can really hate me in the end._

_Next chapters are going to be longer; yet the whole story won't have more than five or six parts.  
_

_By the other hand... first fic of the year. My best wishes to all of you. Hope this 2011 will be full of blessings to you and your beloved ones._


	2. Chapter I

_Well, it took way more than I expected. During the last months writing was not one of my priorities and, truth to be told, still is not. I'm not quite fond of this result, its sort of Renfro's POV and it used to had bits of Logan's but it got too confusing and I just couldn't bring myself to edit anymore, so I chose to split it and post it instead. And who knows, maybe my muse will be back for the next chapter._

* * *

**Unspoken**

**I**

* * *

452's body had been retrieved into the facility, followed immediately by a team of coffee powered doctors that made, unsuccessfully, their best attempts to bring her back to life.

The observer watched them carefully, despite being clearly shocked by all the recent events. Had she lowered her guard when the other _patient_, 599, was already pointing a pistol to her temple. Took her a while to react, almost too late, barely explaining how her heart wouldn't be useful for his _sister_. He killed himself afterwards and the surgeons, challenged with the emotion of such an uncommon task, started the transplant.

She knew it wouldn't be long before the Committee send someone to estimate the damage caused and begin the paperwork for more fund's diversion, meaning she certainly wouldn't have a lot of free time-maybe she wouldn't even sleep that night. But, right then, having lost the most valuable laboratory within Manticore's premises-not to mention the casualties that had bring the attack-was not something she actually could think of.

What had her mind busy among the chaos was the man found next to 452's lifeless figure. He was, certainly, not military looking and, according to what the CO of the unit that located them reported, he hadn't look concerned about 452 as just a fallen operative. Furthermore, there were no records in Manticore history about a stranger ever been so close to them; it was that what had the otherwise self-secure Director so worried about. There were no IDs, cell phones, any clue that'd led them straight to his identity, and who knew how much he was informed about.

Or who else could be.

* * *

He could only resist for so long, and she beamed out of something close to happiness when he stopped to struggle. His silence transformed into words, at first stuttered, that turned into music for her ears; all that came from his mouth, the names, the places, the techniques, was pure gold, and she could not wait to do stunning jewels with that.

She could not believe her own voice. "Eyes freakin' Only." She repeated his identity once and again to believe it, to make it real. While many others had, in vain, tried to capture and/or eliminate him, Eyes Only had just walked straight to them.

It just felt, somehow, like everything was going to be alright.

* * *

Much to the Committee's dislike, she did not stop when there he had nothing left to be told.

"He is Eyes freakin' Only", she kept repeating whenever her judge was questioned, demanding in her voice for someone to understand.

The man's alter ego used to be considered a pain in the ass, and this was most likely to be a chance to have him pay. In a world where everyone was in the hustle-she included-he had somehow managed to bring hope to a disappointed, forgotten majority. _'And he is brilliant'_, her inner self reminded her often that she'd like to admit. _'You don't bring him down by just killing him. You turn him to his worst, you force him to become what he despises.'_

* * *

The first task had been small, almost unimportant, nothing someone else in her team couldn't do, but she had to test him nonetheless. Instructions were easy, all he was supposed to do was to hack into some annoying rich man's estate's security feed and guide one of her soldiers through it.

Just, it didn't go as expected.

One of the soldiers in charge of watching him threw him out of his chair as soon as they figured out that, somehow, in the drug cocktail that filled his blood, he'd managed to tip the police about their intrusion. He lay in the floor, a tangle of numb limbs unable to compose himself, cracking a wicked smile of content as they dragged him back to the basement, its darkness embracing him for many more days until she thought they could try again.

And again, and again, and again.

* * *

"I find it amusing," she spoke, startling the few doctors that were still in their quarters, "that we can bring a million dollar killing machine, with an IQ above 220, to follow our exact orders, but we can not do so with a goddamn cripple."

"Well, he is Eyes Only," the youngest man in the room said, his tone nearly mocking the Director's expectations in the man. He quickly moved from the joke, explaining, "a man that, despite all the trouble he causes, is just an ordinary human. We can not, certainly, use the same kind of drugs as in an X5 with him. We might just send him into a endless coma."

Renfro leaned forward, narrowing her eyes until his nametag was somewhat readable. "Look, Peterson. Maybe you don't know yet how this place works, but we care about results. The means and the how's are of no interest to us. You do what you're told to-and it's your obligation," she addressed to the whole team, "to put this man into work. ASAP."

"It's just-" a more familiar voice began, rather frustrated, and Renfro turned to face her. _Dr. Sheppard_, she reminded herself. _You were the one who hired her... so you can kick her ass out this place if she says the wrong thing_. "Peterson is not completely wrong. His brain, Eyes Only's I mean, it's not designed for that."

"You're telling me he's better that any of our soldiers?" she snapped. It boiled her blood to hear that, even after many years of work, someone still believed natural selection was better. If it were her choice, in vitro fertilization and gene selection methods would be used all around the world, but that wouldn't be good for her line of work.

Sheppard shook her head, "They just happen to have a very specific brain structure, developed in all of them, so we know the exact places we need to stimulate in order to get a reaction. But, in which regards normal, not genetically engineered human beings, it's different. We've studied this behavior before, in plenty missions. There are certain educational and emotional factors that may have a negative effect in the use of coercion as a information retrieval technique. Apparently, when someone has developed a high control in which regards the course of his actions, possibilities of forcing him into doing self-disapproved activities are lesser than a two percent."

A bitter laugh escaped her lips, "Free will? You have to be kidding me."

She knew Dr. Sheppard was unlikely to. The psychiatrist has been personally hired by her, and she knew how capable she was of doing her job; that she had, probably, used every resource to make it happen. "I'm afraid I am not, ma'am."

Even though, it was not easier for her to swallow the truth. "Then, there has to be another way."

"You can always ask him," Peterson coughed, clearly making fun of her. What was not funny, afterwards, was that she had, in fact, listened to his words. She saw the regret of those words in the doctor's eyes, as something she knew it was fear flashed through their gray irises. Someone was getting fired that night. At least it would enlighten her mood to see a fellow human despair.

"You have three weeks, Sheppard," she announced, sighs of complaint filling her ears as a melody.

* * *

But three weeks later, there had been no further advance with Eyes Only, and the woman, used to have instant results, was getting desperate. So there she was, standing in front of a man that both annoyed and fascinate her. If he were lying on the ground of some dreary city, and not in a bed, she'd have mistaken him for just another homeless person; his stubble was growing into a messy beard, while his green eyes, which she supposed had once been bright and full of determination, where now buried deep down in dark circles and stained of red. She, however, did not miss the defiant look he sent her as she walked in, and wondered if it had been the right choice to take off his medication. _Not that he can do a lot_, she comforted herself, catching sight of his whole weakness, remembering how much he did not had already when he went there.

"People talk behind my back. They say keeping you alive has to be the worst decision I've ever made, that you can be our end."

He didn't reply, his mind still processing her words, so she went on, "they might be right. You've already put us on stake, and I can assure you it is not pleasant. But I still think, you _are_ Eyes Only, more capable of realizing certain activities than many of our best prepared people. Killing you would be such a waste."

The beating of his heart increased with the mention of his alter ego and, rather than amused by the effect, she got unnerved. "The fact is that you have a bunch of knowledge, a wisdom that we might not know how to handle. You win, you're way better than us. Oh, boy, how many compliments do you want me to say? Killing you would be such a waste," she repeats almost happily. "Come on, just think about the damage you did to us. Not even our best people can infiltrate our security systems in the outside... God, you were real mean."

Pacing, the clicking of her heels made her miss the first sigh. "Wasn't good enough, though," he whispered, his gaze fixed in his bony hands.

She rolled her eyes. "Praise yourself, please. If I weren't this Project's director, everybody else would have given up already and you'd have won the war. A single battle is not so bad. For someone like you, I mean."

"Doesn't sound so much like a compliment," uttered the man, his voice finally louder, as he tried to stand up to her, "but thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome," she politely replied, "and that's why you must understand why I am not letting go of you, why should I insist. I need you," she stated, and hope hadn't sounded as lame as she'd heard.

His eyes narrowed, confusion taking over his face. "You're asking me to work for you?" he chuckled, clearly amused at how absurd all of this was, but soon lost his laughter. "What if say no?"

Her back straightened as she wanted to look stunning, powerful before him, and she knew she'd succeeded, judging by the lines formed around his sore eyes. She had her attitude on, that which said, "I always get what I want."

Those were the words she pronounced.

"You can ask anyone in this building. I'm a little..." she paused, looking for the word that'd got caught in the tip of her tongue, "persuasive, to say the least, when it comes to obtain something I desire."

"I'm afraid to tell you, then, you're wasting your very valuable time," he sighed, pinching tiredly the bridge of his nose, " but, you know, you could always use your fancy little trick and oblige me."

"And look how well that has worked for me," she snorted. "One thing is to force you to tell me your deepest secrets, and a very different one is to force you to perform some activity. While some of our elements specialize in telecoercion, their effects are very limited. Blame free will, but you won't do anything unless you actually decide to."

For the first time, she thought a glimpse of hope shone through him, perhaps considering victory was lying beside him. A shame, she considered.

His teeth, slightly yellow, appeared in a rare smile, laughing at her expense. "I must repeat, you're wasting your time."

"I must repeat, then," she mimicked, "I am a little persuasive when there's something I want."

Their eyes locked for an eternity, until he seemed unable to take it anymore and moved his gaze to somewhere, _anywhere_, else. This way, her smile, faint as only a thin line curved upwards, one that could seem shy, adorable, in other circumstances, went unnoticed to him. "I expected no less. I guess that was part of an unspoken clause of your contract with 45-Max, that you wouldn't ever work for Manticore."

Quietly, she abandoned the room, but her last words echoed in her own mind long after she was gone. How was she going to do that? She had no idea, but they'd come up with something, her people always did.

"We all have a price, Logan," she said his actual name for the first time. "I just have to find yours."

* * *

**TBC...**

* * *

_So my take on this is not exactly make a Logan 'Man of Action' Edition (not that the idea is not appealing to me); instead, I choose just to have him cooperating with the enemy... if they can. And which will be Logan's price? Ah, you just have to figure that one._

_Happy 2012, by the way. I know it's almost February, but I couldn't resist. _


	3. Chapter II

_Free will ... Maybe I am relying too much on the fact that Max was able to be herself while she was back at Manticore. But Logan's here more like Zack was in S1, fighting them back, but eventually broken and failing to what he defended._

_I do think, however, Manticore can do way more to turn Logan to their side. At the same time, I do believe human mind is as complex as fascinating... So I think someone, maybe very special, can come up victorious in a battle like this. __And Logan is, certainly, not just some ordinary guy._

* * *

**Unspoken**

**II**

* * *

After months surviving tortures that still tormented him, he had no idea what to expect anymore. The woman had been right about one thing, though; maybe Max and he had never talked about it, but working for Manticore was definitely out of the question. So, why did she insist?

Fighting hard against his own weakness, his body was only strong enough to let him sit at the edge of the so-called bed. He craved sleep, natural, not drug inducted sleep, but he needed to think a bit before allowing himself such freedom. Why did she insist, if she knew that there was nothing that could convince him? It didn't matter how much he thought about it, he was certain they couldn't offer anything appealing to him, someone who'd had everything in his life.

Pondering all his options, which weren't many, he realized two things. One, that he was beyond any suicidal thought, and dying, even in the worst of circumstances, was not an attractive idea anymore. Two, surrendering was not an option, which collided with One, since he considered impossible to live much longer if he didn't provide the desired support to Manticore's cause.

It was only a matter of time, he knew, before they grew bored and started to break into him again. All he had was the hope it would happen in a far away future.

* * *

It was not the first time a quid pro quo went that way for him. Before, with Max, he had received more before he could give something in return. This time, however, as he stretched his not-really-used-for-a-while legs, he was more than ready to enjoy whatever Manticore would give to him, because, no matter what happened next, a) he was not working for them, and b) he was _not_ fucking working for them.

He had no price and, for the first time in months, he felt powerful, like he could defeat them.

* * *

For three weeks he was treated so kindly that, even when he saw it coming, he had trouble accepting that they would return to the routine of his early days in the facilities. People had been fired, he guessed at seeing the doctors' faces, which weren't even vaguely familiar. The game returned at its best, and he started losing as soon as they penetrated the first layer of his mind.

Eventually, he lost track of time. Every day they tore him into pieces, only to pull him back together and follow the same procedure the morning after. It hurt him in ways he never thought possible, sometimes the simple task of remembering who the hell he was could give him a splitting headache.

Logan Cale. Eyes Only. Eyes...

He shut his green orbs in silent agony, and the only thing that would bring him peace was nothing but the biggest one that would bring him the pain. Right there, in his loneliness, he relived every moment with her, both the sweet and the bitter ones, repeating the three letters of her name until it settled back in the depths of his mind, in those places which he thought, rather hoped, that would be untouchable.

Sometimes, in the soothing darkness of the night, he could hear her soft voice, repeating her very last words. _Don't leave me_. He didn't want to, they obliged him to, and now his only moment of genuine happiness was an old dream that no one ever spoke about. In the orange world in which they were, the only possible thing to do was to dance, endlessly, any sound drowned out by Sibelius' tune. He knew it was a dream; still, he didn't try to break the blissful spell in which he was because it was beautiful and perfect and everything he really wanted was there.

He knew it was a dream; he just didn't care.

Other times, when drugs were not strong enough to knock him out, he would be midly awake and her voice would fill the air in the form of shivery screams. She was not alone anymore, and his tormentors stopped being just Manticore doctors, but his previous informants. The names of his victims danced in front of his eyes, each person his folly had betrayed, every piece of information shared unintentionally - the damages he'd caused. Did Hannah notice they were after her and run away in time? Were Matt Sung's wife and child still alive? Truth to be told, he honestly doubted someone was going to come out clean of his crap.

And he thought saying he was Eyes Only would help them to decide to kill him faster, given the fact he had already been a pain in the ass for Manticore.

Eyes Only had only taken things away from him, his legs being the major example. It was bad enough, then, to also hurt people who trusted him, blindly, for good. If anything, the person he cared the most was the only one that would not be affected by anything he could say.

Max was dead already.

He weighted between his betrayal and the sense of loss. There was not really that much left for him in the world and, once again, he hated being alive. It was not fair for those losing everything on his count; it was not fair for someone that died fighting her own war. It was unfair for everybody, and he was still breathing.

* * *

They were winning.

Or so they thought.

His second task was as insignificant as the first one; he had to hack the security system of the same millionaire who was sticking his nose right where he should not. Except, this time, he put the right codes and the soldier he'd guided had come and gone undetected.

He hadn't liked the idea, to inflict more damage by actually helping them, but it made a lot of sense when he thought about it. How had he been so stupid? If he worked for them, he had the open door to their entire universe; he could just use his own magic and defeat them from within their walls.

It would not be easy, he knew it beforehand, but now, he finally had a plan, a mission, and it was certainly not one assigned by Manticore.

* * *

One day, sadly, he was discovered. He didn't know how (perhaps he let out something between dreams), but they foiled his plan by getting him out of their headquarters for another month or so. Once again, he'd forgotten what it felt to be destroyed, and once again, he remembered how it was.

They exceeded their intrusions, reaching a point where he no longer felt any pain. He waited patiently for them to get tired, to find something more important to do, _if possible_, than convince him to do something he refused. But saying yes would be easier...

_But giving up is not an option_, a voice said, the line between reality and fantasy so blurred that he could not tell if the words were his or hers. However, he obeyed his gut, and said no until his voice wasn't audible anymore.

"I've had enough of your shit," said the blonde in one of her visits, visibly annoyed. "Anything," she hissed, serpent-like, "I can give you anything you want in return."

There it was, her highest point of despair. He grinned to himself, remembering, as he always did, that there was nothing that she could give him. He had never asked for anything in return, and yet there he was, walking with the fluidity of a teenager, looking at the world with the acuity of an eagle. Even in the adversity he was submerged, he had more than many of those living in the outside, but there was nothing that could fill the emptiness inside him. He just wanted her.

So, for the first time, his only real request was not left as unspoken words. "I have an idea," and her eyes shone with an opportunity that had never been granted.

"Why don't you bring her back to me? Max, I mean. She comes right here all breathing and functional, and I'll do whatever you want."

And there, in the soberness of the moment, despite being devastated by the imminent truth of his perpetual loneliness, he wanted to laugh at the ridiculous look in her face. If that didn't say _You can go to hell, I ain't working with you_, he had no idea what did.

Less than five minutes later, however, his plan went straight to hell. Was he contemplating his obvious success, when a very live, surprised Max crossed the door. Jaw dropped to the ground, the excitement of her resurrection was only overcome by a single thought.

_Oh. Fuck._

* * *

_And if it doesn't make a lot of sense... Feel free to say so, since you're probably right. Almost each part between the lines was part of a previous attempt of this chapter, but none of them fully convinced me. This felt more like a character study, but it goes all plot-driven in the next instalment. So, see you there!_


End file.
